‘Why bother?’ said Lilly. ‘The stupid boy will do it for them.’
Taslima pursed her lips.
‘I know you think it’s just noise,’ said Lilly, ‘but he sounded pretty convincing in court.’
‘He’s too young to understand what it all means.’
‘The magistrate didn’t think so and neither will a jury,’ said Lilly.
Taslima split the pile in two and handed one fat wad to Lilly. ‘Then you’ll just have to convince them otherwise.’
‘What makes you think he even wants me to represent him?’ asked Lilly.
Taslima picked up a red pen and began making notes. ‘He didn’t sack you, did he?’
When he got back to his car Jack pulled out his mobile and dialled Lilly’s number. He wanted to run the situation with Ryan past her. She had good instincts with kids and would know instantly if Jack was reading things correctly.
When she answered, the fatigue was palpable in her voice and concern rose in his chest.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Shit morning at court,’ she said.
Jack tried to bite his tongue but couldn’t. ‘You shouldn’t be working.’
‘Did you call to have a go at me?’
‘Of course not.’ Jesus, was that how she saw him? ‘I just get worried.’
She didn’t reply, and in her silence he knew exactly how she saw him. A nag. A moaning old nag. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I wanted to ask your advice.’
‘What about?’
‘A boy I’m working with,’ said Jack, ‘and whether he could be abusing his mother.’
Lilly sighed. ‘How could I possibly know that, Jack?’
‘I just wondered what your gut reaction would be.’
‘My gut reaction,’ said Lilly, ‘is that you’re finding reasons to call and check up on me.’
‘For God’s sake, woman, I called to run something past you.’
‘So how did we get onto the subject of whether or not I should work?’ she asked, clearly not persuaded.
‘Because you sound terrible,’ he was shouting now, ‘and because you said you had a shit morning at court. Am I supposed to just ignore that?’
There was more silence.
‘Lilly?’
‘Have you finished?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Then let me get on with my work.’
When she hung up he threw his phone onto the passenger seat in disgust. He was still smarting when it rang. If it was Lilly calling to apologise she would have to do some Olympic grovelling.
‘Jack?’ Mara’s breathy voice tingled in his ear.
‘Hello.’
‘There’s a meeting tonight at school about certain racial issues,’ she said. ‘Police harassment will almost certainly come up.’
‘Oh?’
‘Some of our more radical parents are questioning your presence at school yesterday.’
‘Who bloody told them I’d been?’ Jack asked.
‘Some of my students can spot a policeman at forty paces.’ She coughed. ‘I thought you might like to come.’
Jack thought for a second. He’d said he would be home for dinner—but then again, Lilly was doing everything in her power to avoid him.
‘I’ll be there,’ he said.
It was nearly ten and Taslima was exhausted. The neighbours had been arguing for hours, their drunken screams ever increasing. She jumped at the sound of something hitting the wall and prayed it wasn’t a head.
She glanced at the thick pile of papers she had brought home, intending to work her way through, but she couldn’t concentrate. At this rate she’d still be up reading them at midnight. She closed her eyes and tried to drown out the noise. At times like this, when she felt all alone in this horrible place, she questioned whether she had done the right thing.
She’d given up everything. Home and family. Was it worth it? She missed her mother so much it hurt.
‘You had no choice,’ she said to herself, and picked up her pen.
At last the howling calmed to an insistent sobbing and she began to work. She had barely read the first paragraph when there was shouting outside. What now? She went to the curtains and peeped outside.
In the car park below two youths sat on the bonnet of an ancient BMW smoking cigarettes and knocking off each other’s baseball caps. They could have been any teenagers larking about until the arrival of a skinny white
girl, scuttling like a beetle towards them, confirmed what they were. Dealers. Bold as you like.
Though she had lost a lot of weight and her hair was now scraped back in an unflattering ponytail, Taslima recognised the white girl as a noisy resident of one of the ground-floor flats.
When Taslima had first moved in she’d asked Amber to stop throwing used nappies out of her window. It was a health hazard and the bins were only at the end of the walkway.
The white girl had spat at Taslima’s feet and called her a ‘rag head’.
The nappy throwing had stopped a few weeks ago.
‘The social done take them kids away,’ said Mrs Roberts. ‘And not before time.’
Taslima felt a stab of sympathy as she watched the girl grasp something from the teenage boys and totter unsteadily back to her flat. They laughed openly at her but she didn’t seem to care. Where was her self-respect? Did she hate herself so much?
Once again Taslima gave thanks that she knew how much God loved her and how much she was cherished. With that understanding everything else was easy. And if not easy, then at least bearable.
She went back to the sofa to work. As she reached for the first statement her mobile rang and she snatched it up.
Lilly held the phone in the crook of her neck as she hovered over the evidence she had spread across the kitchen table. Jack was working late so she’d been able to take the place over.
‘Hello?’ Taslima’s voice was barely above a whisper.
‘Sorry to call so late,’ said Lilly, ‘but I’ve just finished reading my stack of paperwork.’
‘I’m nearly there too.’
‘Great,’ said Lilly. ‘Anything interesting?’
‘I’m not really qualified to decide that,’ said Taslima.
‘Fair enough,’ Lilly laughed.
There was a low wail in the background.
‘Is that crying?’ asked Lilly. She could hear Taslima moving about and closing doors.
‘No.’
‘Is everything OK?’ asked Lilly.
There was a pause.
‘Everything’s fine,’ Taslima laughed. ‘It’s the baby next door.’
‘Blimey, your walls must be thin.’
‘Like paper. So did you find anything interesting?’
‘Yes, I did.’ Lilly searched for the document she’d marked with a highlighter. ‘I’ve checked through the telephone records for Yasmeen’s mobile and on the day of her death she made a lot of calls.’
‘To who?’ Taslima asked.
Lilly scanned the list. ‘Friends, her mum, her uncle, her sister, Saira, Anwar.’
‘Any to Raffy?’ asked Taslima.
‘One,’ said Lilly.
‘That’s good,’ said Taslima. ‘She wouldn’t have called him if he was at home.’
‘I see where you’re going but this was in the morning. He would still have had plenty of time to make his way over there and bring his sister a can of Coke.’
‘What was the last call she made?’ Taslima asked.
‘That’s the interesting thing. About an hour before she died she called a women’s centre in Luton. The Free Voice Collective.’
‘We’d better find out why she got in touch.’
‘You bet,’ said Lilly. ‘Which is why we’re paying them a visit first thing in the morning.’
The old man lifted his finger skyward, his voice reverberating around the school gym.
‘Make no mistake,’ he told the assembled parents and teachers, ‘the Muslims in this community will no longer nod their heads while the police and the education authority tell us how to behave.’
There was a mumbled assent.
‘We do not believe in drinking, dancing and
Celebrity Big Brother
,’ the old man spat out.
‘No one is saying that any Muslim should take part in those things,’ said Mara, with a tight smile, ‘but it is my responsibility to ensure that all the pupils in this school have equal opportunities.’
The old man sneered at her. ‘The opportunity to do what? Run around the town taking drugs and having sex? Excuse us if we don’t want that for
our
girls.’
‘Nothing I have suggested includes drugs or sex,’ Mara replied. ‘I’m simply trying to introduce a broader curriculum. Philosophy, debating, music. Nothing untoward.’
‘Muslim girls have no interest in your broader curriculum.’ The old man waved his hand dismissively.
‘Whatever free time they have should be spent with their families.’
Jack had heard enough. The smell of stale trainers—coupled with bigotry dressed up as religious belief—sickened him. He left the gym.
Throughout the seventies and eighties, every two-bit bully in Belfast had declared themselves on the side of God. Masked gunmen had fired rounds of bullets into the air at weddings and funerals. Every religious festival was hijacked by the politicians and the bombers. And he’d had a gutful of it.
Mara slipped outside into the cool night air.
‘I thought you’d deserted me.’
‘I just can’t stand your man in there pretending he’s some defender of the faith,’ said Jack.
Mara’s eyes twinkled. ‘Mohamed Aziz is the bane of my life. He doesn’t even have any children at this school.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘Remember the trouble over the school play?’ said Mara. ‘He was one of the main instigators.’
Jack gave a hollow laugh. ‘Why does that not surprise me.’
The doors to the gym opened and the old man came out surrounded by younger men all patting him on the back. Clearly they approved of his rhetoric and clearly he enjoyed the attention.
‘Did you have a chance to catch up with Ryan?’ Mara asked. ‘He wasn’t at school today.’
Jack looked at her and she smiled. ‘Are you trying to change the subject?’ he asked.
Her smile turned to a laugh. ‘Am I that transparent?’
‘Ryan’s at home with his mother,’ said Jack.
‘You met them both?’ Mara sounded impressed. ‘I haven’t managed to get a single meeting with that family.’
Jack thought of the door slamming in his face. ‘Just part of my job.’
‘Well, you must be bloody good at it,’ Mara giggled. ‘Pardon my French.’
Jack couldn’t resist a smile. ‘Things are not what they seem in the Sanders household,’ he said, serious again.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Mara asked.
Jack considered for a moment. He pictured Mrs Sanders’ fear, how her hands shook, how her son had menaced her.
‘We might have to reassess exactly who it is that needs the help,’ he said.
‘Why don’t we sit down and discuss it?’ Mara checked her watch. ‘There’s still time to grab a bite to eat if you’re hungry.’
Jack had no idea how to respond.
‘Oh dear,’ said Mara, ‘I didn’t mean as in a date.’
Now he felt ridiculous. What had he been thinking? Of course she hadn’t meant a date. She cared about Ryan and just wanted to talk things through, like he had wanted to with Lilly.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Mara. ‘I expect you have other plans.’
‘No plans at all,’ said Jack. ‘Dinner would be lovely.’
June 2007
‘The Jews are the enemy of God and mankind.’
The visiting teacher holds his finger in the air as if he is balancing this dreadful truth. I haven’t heard him speak before and have been breathless with anticipation about this meeting.
Every Islamist forum describes him as one of the most fierce politicians in the UK, and the mosque is packed with supporters who have travelled from mosques in Birmingham and Leeds. We sit, cross-legged, our feet tucked under us, our knees touching, and wait for him to continue.
‘Make no mistake that they wish to dominate not only the Middle East but the world.’ He pauses again and nods gently. ‘They worship only power and money.’
A murmur of assent passes through the crowd.
‘And who will stop them?’ He opens his arms. ‘America, Britain?’ He lets the question dance before him. ‘The West will do nothing but stand on the sidelines and smile while Israeli soldiers kill every man, woman and child in Palestine.’
He points to a young boy at the front, no more than twelve, his cap slightly askew. ‘Do you know what they will do when their tanks have flattened Gaza?’
The boy shakes his head.
‘They will turn their sights on another poor Muslim country that cannot defend itself.’
The boy’s eyes are as round as an owl’s. ‘We must stop them.’
The teacher lets a slow smile spread across his cheeks. ‘Indeed we must.’
He rubs his cheek with his right hand, the stump where his thumb should be obvious to us all. He is too modest to admit it but it is common knowledge that he lost it saving a brother in Chechnya.
‘Indeed we shall stop them,’ he says.
When he has finished and the crowd begins to disperse I sidle over to the corner where he is deep in conversation with the imam of the mosque.
‘Excuse me.’ My nerves swallow the words in my throat. I cough. ‘Excuse me, I have a question.’
The imam frowns at me and waves me away. ‘Can’t you see the teacher is tired?’
I’m about to apologise but he smiles at me.
‘The Prophet Mohammed, peace be upon him, bade us to answer where we can.’
The imam tuts but the teacher is still smiling so I take my chance.
‘I just wondered what you thought about the Iranian president saying Israel should be wiped off the map. Is that not haram?’
The teacher cocks his head. ‘What do you think?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘The Koran tells us we can use force to defend our Muslim brothers but we must treat our enemies with mercy.’
The imam snorts but the teacher presses a hand upon his shoulder so I can see the stump of his thumb up close, how it ends brutally above his knuckle.
‘Should not every right-thinking person ask themselves what is a sin and what is not?’ the teacher asks him. He turns to me. ‘It is an excellent point.’
I blush with satisfaction.
‘Now Hamas have won the election in Gaza you think Israel will be forced to negotiate with them?’ he asks.
I nod vehemently.
‘And if peace can be achieved we must leave Israel alone?’ he asks.
‘Perhaps,’ I say. ‘Is that not what the Koran tells us?’